


Wait

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Death, Dragon sex, F/M, Happy Ending, Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: Hanzo heard something outside.  Who knew it was going to be... that?!
Relationships: Hanzo Shimada/Original Female Character, Hanzo Shimada/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	Wait

Hanzo heard the strangest thump.

He paused in his ritual of getting dressed, the gold and sapphire cufflink still on his fingertips. There was a sound of scuffling, but then nothing. When he was reaching for his brilliant blue tie, he heard a hurried pattern of footprints, running away.

The hallways were empty, as he expected.

Something had happened, but perhaps it was nothing. The servants were well trained to not disturb him or any member of the family. Still, accidents were going to happen. Perhaps one of them fell. Or perhaps stumbled. He didn’t know and didn’t care—he was late for his evening appointments.

The next week passed by and he was even more busy than before. With his father so ill, his duties had almost doubled. He needed to only change his suit in order to be ready for the evening. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see him in a suit rumpled and a shirt wrinkled by the busy morning meetings—let alone any of the businessmen and pimps and scoundrels he had business with tonight.

He had scarcely gotten his fresh, white sleeveless undershirt out of the drawer—was standing there in his dark socks and his fine wool suite pants over the traditional Japanese undergarments—when he heard another thump.

This was entirely too much.

It was one thing to have one or another of the whispery, fluttering maids lurking at his doorway and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But it was unbearably impertinent and not to mention rude to have them thumping around like graceless elephants.

He slid on the cotton undershirt and it clung to him like a second skin as he jammed the tail into the waist of his pants. A second thump sounded, this time with a soft and feminine cry and he stomped out of the suite even as there was a second wail and another thump. He whipped open the doorway with a crack that seemed to splinter the wood.

There she was—laying in a crumpled pile with her plain silk kimono pulled almost down at her waist. Her brown hair was supposed to be in a tight bun or a braid—certainly out of her face, but instead it hung in a tangle over her face and halfway down her back. Her kimono was even ripped along her thigh.

“What is this about?” he demanded angrily. She sobbed and shuddered and shook her head. “Why are you down there? Like that?!”

“P-p-please, Master Hanzo—!” she babbled.

“Enough!” He leaned closer to her and grabbed her arm. There was a muskiness around her and he scowled harshly as the scent suggested something and whatever it was, it made him mad. “What do you mean by this?”

“I am so-so-so sorry, Master Hanzo!”

He began dragging her away from the suite. “Stupid girl! You should not even be here. Certainly not spying on me.” She began blubbering, wet tears going down her cheeks. “Now you’ve seen me, and it is time to go.”

“I’m so sorry, but—!”

“No excuses, you stupid girl,” he hissed as he steered her towards the exit from his suite of rooms. “I do not want to catch you like this around here again.” He stopped and glared down at her uniform. “And your uniform!” Hanzo shoved her into the main hallway. “Count yourself lucky that I do not beat you now!”

He gave her one more push and went back to his suite. He was going to be late if he wasn’t careful. To his surprise, his two dragons were sitting on in the middle of the hallway where he had found her, looking up at him from their place on the carpet. “And what are you two doing out and about?”

They sniffed around, looking at each other, the empty hallway and then back at him. One of them tilted its head slightly and then let out a bit of a purr. Hanzo grinned and shrugged at them. “And I suppose you are hungry, eh?”

They looked at each other and then him again. Then they nodded in unison. He grinned and went to his desk. He kept a basket of oranges and then an elegant china bowl of bright red candies there all the time for just such emergencies. “Just a snack then. And tonight we will have some of Cook’s lovely dorayaki.”

They let out a happy snort and pounced on the hastily unwrapped candies he dropped to the tatami floor. He fumbled with the colorful wrappings and one hit the floor with a rattle of plastic and a soft sound. Of course, the dragons went bounding after it and popped it into its mouth with the wrapping.

“Now what have you done, you silly dragon?” he asked softly. He grabbed the long muzzle and pried open the teeth and tried to pick out the wrapper. “Do I not have enough to worry about without you making yourself sick?”

It hacked and wriggled its long body around. He finally had it in his fingertips and pulled it out. It coughed and spat and jumped out of his grip to rejoin its twin. He shook his head and dumped the wrappers in his trashcan. “Now, I need to get going.” He shook his finger at them, scolding them playfully. “And, please... remember what I said about appearing without me summoning you.”

They stared at him and finally one nodded before they both vanished.

He felt them join his soul again with a slight prickle on his skin. “Now, behave you two.”

Things went quietly for another long time. Hanzo felt like he had two lives to live—one at the hospital and the doctors’ offices with his father and another where he was running the Shimada empire. Slowly, father had begun to heal, but it was taking an eternity. And in the meantime, he was taking care of the duties of both kumicho and wakagashira, managing the household and the work of a dutiful son.

His father suggested marriage. A wife to take care of the household and sit with him and—of course—have children in due course. A wife to halve his burdens and give him pleasure and relaxation for his few free hours. If only there was a dutiful woman he wasn’t bored with in an hour as she droned on and on about jewelry and fashion and parties and all that sort of nonsense. Genji was far better suited to marriage with all of his women. Surely he could find one of them willing to overlook his many affairs in exchange for the wealth and prestige the Shimada name would bring.

He was thrilled to finally have an evening to himself. It was the 19th and no protection money was due since it wasn’t around a typical payday. The gang had been paid just today. The pimps and dealers were due to be visited tomorrow. The elders’ meeting was on the 25th and the reports and predictions were already printed and collated into neat folders with the agenda for the meeting printed and stapled to the covers.

So, he had a whole evening to himself. He could finally shuck off the confining suit and put on a yukata and just rest. He could read a book, drink some sake and watch some television. Nothing too arduous or complicated or any sort of exertion.

He took a shower, sat for a while in the private hot spring onsen on the estate, had a massage from the elderly man his father kept on the estate, and then sat down to enjoy an evening snack and some sake. He had a lovely evening of doing very little ahead of him and even the Scion of the Shimada needed some relaxation.

He was happily involved in his book and listening to a stock report when he heard a yelp and a crash outside. That was too much! He slammed the book shut, and rose to his feet in a swift and angry motion. No matter who it was—even if it was his bratty little brother!—they were going to be driven from the family wing if it was the last thing he did.

He whipped open the door and the first thing he saw was a shred of gray silk. It must be another of those stupid maids in one of their silly, stupid games. Genji was always playing games and his women seemed to think that because he smiled at them, they owned the place. Snatching up the scrap, he looked around.

There was a muffled whine off in one of the other rooms and he followed it like a bloodhound on a scent. He walked up to the most likely door—a wide sitting room that was in front of a guest bedroom. He heard a rhythmic creaking there and his eyes narrowed to see scratches on the pine frame of the door.

Whoever it was, he was going to make sure all of Hanamura knew his rage.

Something made him pause.

What ever made him pause even those few half seconds, it faded into anger with the next feminine whisper. He pounded the closed door with his fist. “You have three seconds and I am coming in—whoever you are!”

He waited two seconds and threw open the door. He expected to see Genji and his lady of the evening in one of their stupid games. Maybe even an array of toys or discarded clothes. Certainly there would be a bottle or something—maybe some X-rated toys or magazines.

She was there. That infuriating maid. That same idiotic made that he had already scolded once. One would think she had learned her lesson by now, stupid girl, but apparently not. She was all but naked this time with her kimono pulled open and off her shoulders and arms entirely and the skirt open to her waist with her legs and hips exposed. The only thing keeping it on her at all was the tight obi that was askew on her waist. Her hair was completely ripped down and flowed in messy streams down her back.

“You!” he hissed. “You again?! You never learn.”

“But Master H-hanzo—.”

“You are incorrigible!” He snatched her arm. There was. A saline and musky smell seemed to fill the room. “The whole room smells of your sex.” He looked around the empty room, dragging her to the bedroom just beyond and stared at the empty, pristine room. He didn’t know where that stupid girl’s apparent lover was, but if he did find the man, he would beat him, too. “And your lover has left you behind, I see.”

“B-b-but you don’t understand!” she insisted, trembling. “It wasn’t—!”

“Shut your lying mouth,” he snapped. “I will not tolerate your fornication in my suites!”

He drug her out to the interior garden and snatched up a narrow bamboo rod that the gardener had cut. Flinging her to the ground, he tugged the kimono down to her waist. She gave a frightened cry and started to scramble to her knees. So, he stepped down on her narrow waist until she lay back down on the moss covered ground.

Everyone seemed to have heard the row and he saw several shutters crack open and the shadows of the people inside suddenly gather at windows in doorways. He snarled at her in a wordless growl of anger. Slamming the stick against the ground with a crack, he all but screamed at her, “I will not tolerate you fucking your lover in my house! In my own suites!”

The estate seemed alive with murmurs of agreement.

She wept under him, shaking her head. He snarled at her again and raised the cane. Slamming it down, he felt it rattle as he misjudged the length and the tip slammed against the ground.

A servant came running up behind him. “Please Master! Allow me to punish her! You should relax. Let me take care of this for you.”

He whirled around and stared at the wiry man who approached him on cautious feet. He was not too elderly, not too strong. Then he stared at the all but naked maid. She was comely—a fair skinned beauty and her hair was thick and brown and long. Perhaps he would....

She sobbed again and the manservant took the rod from him. Walking past the young master, he raised the rod up. Hanzo stepped back and watched for a moment as the other man scolded her for making him upset, and then swung the rod down with a splat and a pained cry.

“Shame on you! Shame on your family!” He snapped furiously, “How dare you make the Master so angry!”

Then, in a hushed voice, the servant hissed under his breath and obviously not meant for Hanzo to necessarily hear. “Better me than him, ehh? I will punish you, foolish girl, but he can break your bones.”

Hanzo watched as she was struck a second time. Mildly satisfied that it was going to be a well learned lesson, he turned back to go inside. Certainly he was upset, but perhaps he could salvage something of the evening.

He got back to his suite and was surprised to see one of his dragons sitting in his suite. “What are you doing here? Do you know how dangerous it would be to be seen?” He knelt and stroked the long body, and whispered, “If something happened to you, then it would be like I myself was wounded.”

It gave him a chirp and nuzzled his palm. With a sensuous wriggle, it seemed to be pleased enough when he picked it up and cradled it. He went to the desk and picked up a candy. “So what do you think you are doing, eh? Appearing without my consent.”

He heard a muffled wail and shook his head. “What if that stupid maid saw you? She would undoubtedly tell everyone she saw, and there would be no stopping the trouble if anyone found out about you. They would take you away and then who knows what would happen then? Surely, you understand?”

It shook its head and reached for a candy. Hanzo let it pick up the candy without complaint and—to his surprise—it simply stared at the treat without trying to eat it. It just held it in its paw. He handed the dragon a few more. Undoubtedly, there would be a small pile of them found somewhere with a selection of particularly shiny buttons, some of his cuff links, a necklace or broach, and some scraps of ribbons. With a sigh, he stroked the flowing mane. “She is being punished. She did not see you and she will not be peeking in the doorways any more. You are safe, you reckless thing.”

It shook its mane and looked up at him. “What is wrong? Why are you so quiet?” It looked up at him with another shake. “Surely you are satisfied with her punishment?”

It sighed and shook its head. Then, with a sprinkling of diamond dust it vanished with the candy. Hanzo shook his head and turned up the television. The stock reports were soothing in their drone and their concrete details. The book was soothing in its story. The sake was delicious and had the proper tang and sweetness.

He turned the television up again to cover the rustles and murmurs of the building around him.

Then he switched channels. There was a production of Yoshitsune Senbon Zakura in glorious costumes and music. He could watch the excellent troupe—a troupe from the Tokyo Opera according to the credits—and enjoy the production thoroughly.

There was a brief ruffle of sound as several people moved around upstairs. Then, the creak as a door was opened and closed somewhere else—these old buildings always creaked and groaned as people moved around. Then there was nothing else but blessed silence.

He thought about nothing for a long time as he listened to the silence. Not the play. Not the elaborate costumes. Not the book in his lap. Not even the sake sitting nearby. Instead of doing anything he planned, he was simply sitting. 

A half hour later, he was still staring. He might have stared there all night, if the dragon had not appeared again. That blue glow brought him to himself, made him shake his head and sort of wake up. He stared as the trembling creature for a moment and cocked his head. “What are you doing out and about? I thought I told you not to appear without my calling?”

It shook its head indignantly. Instead, it began tugging on the man’s hand. He stood up with a patient expression, watching as the creature jumped and began floating. He obviously was meant to follow, so he padded after it.

How strange that it led him to his office.

It pawed and padded at the desk, flicking its tongue out until Hanzo opened his desk and fetched his keycard and then went to the immense wall clock. There, he opened the secret hinge and opened the safe behind it. Immediately, it went inside, tossing aside the neat piles of money, the small jewelry boxes, the folders of deeds and stocks and all of it about until it got in the back. Then it pulled out a plastic bag filled with tiny vials of white powder. It began clawing and tearing at the plastic bag until Hanzo took it out and opened it. As soon as he did, it grabbed one of the vials and disappeared.

“That is worth hundreds or thousands!” he barked at the empty safe. “It is not....” He sighed heavily and began stacking things where they should be. Obviously, the dragon was no longer there. It was going off doing whatever it was planning on doing. If he found it bizarre that the dragon was suddenly after the new drug his dealers were selling, then he supposed it was his problem. Even though there was no point—most likely it was going to add it to a pile in some corner of the estate—he added, “Just be careful with it and don’t give too much.”

Hanzo continued working hard. He barely saw Hanamura now as he arranged for full time nurses and refurbished a room to have a hospital bed, a pair of staring monitors, and ramps. There were oxygen tanks and machines he had never considered. His work kept him on the move almost endlessly and he found that he had another full-time job appearing the elders who were jittery and anxious now that the kumicho was so ill. Like a flock of sheep, as the first one began worrying about the changes in leadership, all the rest of them followed.

Genji was no help either. He hated to see his father fading away from a strong and muscled man to a frail old man with whispy white hair and a thin voice. He stayed away from the estate as much as Hanzo. Instead of burying himself in work, though, he buried himself in alcohol and late night parties.

He had to schedule time off, though. Even he couldn’t keep up fifty or more hour weeks plus hours arranging for and working with the nurses forever. Then office work. Then picking up Genji or lecturing him about responsibility and honor and the importance of putting in a few hours in the family business.

Finally, he was simply exhausted. He went back to the estate tired and tense and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why every muscle in him was tight and twisted. It was like he had only ever run from place to place. He couldn’t remember the last time that he was able to simply relax.

His dragons felt it, too. They were bursting out far more violently and were creating more havoc now. It was as if they were just as tense and tightly wound as he was. He had to call them back quite quickly now, before they made a huge wreck of things.

So, he wrestled and tugged and jiggled his schedule to have a day off. A whole day of not much going on. The sheer anticipation throbbed in his veins. It made his dragons fractious and anxious too, as though they were eager to simply lay about as well.

Not that they should. They should be politely and calmly soothed, and wait like respectful creatures for his call. And above all, they should not be randomly appearing where just anyone would find them.

He changed into a pair of sweatpants. Ordered the servant closest to him to bring him some sake and a few mizo yokan. Found a performance of some Italian opera. Short and to the point and he could relax. He practically shivered in anticipation as he got ready for a long period of doing nothing important.

There was a short hour or so that he was able to rest. A maid brought him a carafe of water and murmured that others would be making the bed and cleaning the bathroom shortly. He had nothing to say, only nodded his head absently. She vanished again, promising more sake and a lunch tray soon, and he went back to enjoying the opera.

At the end of the performance, he was pleased to hear the scratching around as the maids began dusting and cleaning the rooms of the suites. They were stepping softly and whispering modestly as they bustled around.

They would be bringing in a pile of fresh towels, crisp sheets and a pile of pillows to rotate the ones on the bed so that they could be washed and aired. It usually took them about ninety minutes to get everything cleaned up. Then they would check his desk to replace the oranges and be sure he had those candies—they thought he had a massive appetite. At last, they would check the pens and put a fresh pad of paper on his desk, along with the folder of his messages.

The pleasant hum of activity suddenly paused and then he heard one of their voices raise up in a sharp rebuke and then there was silence. It seemed strange and made the hairs on his neck stand up in a vague sense of instinctive alarm. So, he stood and went to peek out the door to see what was going on.

Two of the older maid were sneering at the younger maid as she brought in a huge pile of sheets and towels and the two pillows piled on top. The young woman had her back to him and she only nodded wearily as they hissed soft orders. To his surprise, the older maids went to one side and began talking quite casually as the younger one began practically running around to handle the suite herself. She didn’t pause for a moment despite them standing around. They even walked out for a while as she began to handle vacuuming.

He was intrigued and continued watching her. She was busy, never looking up and never stopping. As he saw her turn to dust an immaculate table, he recognized her as that nosy one. That certainly explained a lot. The older servants had been here for years without memorable incident and she had already been in trouble, so of course she was the scapegoat now.

He turned away. She was suitably chastened and now seemed to be determined to be a good worker now. He mentally patted himself on the back—she was in line and wouldn’t be a problem. So, he went back to his television and book and sake. Still, he kept an ear out, just in case.

And, sure enough, there was a sudden, feminine gasp and a thump.

He’d fire her. He’d make sure she never worked ever again in all of Japan. He’d burst into the room and be sure that she knew what a problem she had made for herself. So, he crept back to the door. He cracked the door to be sure that she was still there, to time his appearance.

One of his dragons was there, cornering her against the wall. She was sobbing softly, shaking her head as it approached her. It paused, cocking its head at her. It pointed in a vague direction towards the doors and she whimpered and shook her head again. The dragon’s scales fluttered and it seemed to be getting angry. She took in a shuddering breath and tried to dart around the glowing creature. It leapt up and tackled her.

Suddenly, it was fully as big as her and scrambled on top of her. Without any sort of delicacy, it began tugging the kimono off of her, ripping it when it wouldn’t peel off. The obi was made of thicker silk and didn’t rip, but the knot at the back wouldn’t peel off in its claws. Then, its back legs went to work, deftly pulling the skirt up and then ripping her lacy panties off. In short work, she was completely bare.

It was a total surprise to see it dip its head and begin nuzzling her legs, her thighs and up to her core. She whimpered but could not get it off as its long tongue disappeared between her legs. He might have been afraid she was being harmed, but she let out a moan that... was tearfully pleased.

She cocked her back, pushing up her hips as it turned to stand clumsily behind her hips and between her spread legs. He had no idea that the dragon even had a gender—let alone sexual organs or urges—but he had an eyeful of a glowing blue cock before it began thrusting. She bit her knuckles as it began panting and thrusting hard. Its claws traced lightly down her back between her shoulder blades and she muffled a whine.

Then, it thrust harder, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it drove into her with wet slurps. She was actually scraped across the floor a few inches. It thrust powerfully and she was flattened against the tatami mats. Finally, it smacked a paw against her rear and reared back long enough for her to turn over with its cock bobbing half an inch above the floor. As soon as her back hit the floor, it drove inside her again, craning its neck to begin lapping at her nipples and along her neck.

“Please don’t let him find me,” she whispered as it kept going. Despite her protests, she was starting to thrust up, to return its ardent energy. “Don’t get me in trouble. Not again!”

It let out a harrumph and tossed its mane again. Then it went hard, driving her several inches across the rough floor. Her nails dug into the mats, drawing scratches across them in jagged lines. Still it hammered forward, its eyes closing in obvious pleasure as it nibbled her skin.

Her words began to run together in pants and moans and snaps of teeth. Sweat appeared on her skin and her cheeks flushed darkly as she stuck her knuckles in her mouth again. Hanzo stared in dazed surprise as her hips thrust up. Finally she curled up, her legs wrapping around the serpentine hips and then clutch the scaled shoulders.

Suddenly she reached up, grasping the dragon tightly and then letting out the softest gasp. Her eyes screwed shut as she buried her face in its neck. There was a rippling spasm in its body and she let out a whine as it buried its cock into her. The long neck curled back and it stared at the ceiling in oblivious ecstasy.

After a long moment, it relaxed and laid down on top of her. It pulled back slowly, wearily, and then floated off beyond view again. She whimpered and small tears were on her red cheeks. A few minutes later, she was still laying there and Hanzo crept out of into the room.

She was beautiful like that—her legs splayed open, her skin glowing with pleasure, her hair spread all around her, her clothes in shreds underneath her and her thighs streaked with cum. It made his mouth go dry and he froze as he stared at her.

She must have heard him, because she bolted up and began scrambling to pick up the pieces of her uniform in front of her. She must have been exhausted and sore, because it was a slow process to even get to her knees in front of her. Her eyes were wide and dewy and terrified as she stared up at him.

“M-m-m-master Hanzo!”

“Indeed,” he nodded. He looked at her curiously and watched as she turned even more red from the tips of her ears to her neck and chest. “And... what has been going on?” She burst out into hiccuping tears, her eyes dropped and she looked away. “How long has this been going on?”

She was silent still, except for her mournful tears. She shuddered, her eyes going everywhere as long as it wasn’t towards him. The dragon was no help either because it gave him a wry look, seemed to sneeze and then vanished. He was about to decide she wasn’t going to answer him at all when she simply shrugged and whispered, “Can I go now?”

He stifled an impatient snort. Closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly, he lowered his voice to a softer tone. “Is this why you were unclothed the other times?”

She hesitantly nodded again and shifted the rags around her. It didn’t matter how much she tried, the kimono was in ragged strips and they failed to do more than flutter around her like an anime illustration. He flinched to see the now uncovered skin and the myriad scrapes and bruises, and she turned red again.

“Very well,” he bit out. “Come with me.”

He led her by a firm grip on her elbow to his bathroom and settled her onto the edge of the jacuzzi tub before rolling the taps to fill it. “Stay here. I will be right back.” He waved. “Make sure it is warm but not too hot.”

Hanzo stalked around the suite, picking up his bathrobe and a small bottle of common painkillers. The older maids came back in with a waft of tobacco smoke and chattering of gossip. He growled at them to finish up themselves and went back to the bathroom. She was—thankfully—still there and looking around for something.

“There you are,” he purred. She nodded bashfully. “Is the water the right temperature?”

She nodded again and he slid her in. She sighed in pleasure as he turned on the jets. He silently gave her the painkillers and a cup of water. “Now, little one, we will begin again.” She wriggled in the water and frowned, biting her lip as she stared up at him. “You and I will talk a bit. Then, I will add some salts that will ease your muscle aches and leave you for a short time, but I will return. I expect to have you here in my suites. Do you understand?” She nodded slowly. “Now, you and the dragon have been... active for some time?”

“Yes.. but—.”

“The ‘yes’ is sufficient.” He looked briefly at the wavy outline of her body through the water and the jets of bubbles. Her body was not displeasing, despite the bruises and scratches. “I will assume that it has been for a while. That in fact, all of the incidents have been due to your... liaisons.”

Her voice was tiny and thin over the rumble of the tub. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

He looked at her with a sharp frown. “Who said anything about that?!”

She turned red and her hands floated to cover her breasts. “He did.”

“Who? The dragon?” She nodded. “I see. We have tried to keep them a close secret. I had no idea that they were appearing without my permission, let alone that either of them were intimate with the staff.” He sighed and rose to get a thick, fluffy towel. “Of course, I do apologize and if I had known the truth, then you would not have been beaten.” He tried to ignore the red coloring his own cheeks. How had he not noticed? “I will do the necessary next steps to ensure your protection.”

He set the towels in her reach. “I will expect you to relax for now. I will lock the suite and be sure that you are not harassed. Please stay here in the suite until I return.”

How he managed to get out of the suite of rooms, the door locked, and down the hall, he wasn’t sure. His mind was swirling and whirling with what he had learned. He made it to his father’s room, dodging the nurses and the clunky machinery. His father looked sideways at him and gave a dismissive wave.

Hanzo pulled up a stool as everyone else—the obligatory bodyguard, the on-shift nurse, a secretary—got up to leave. When the door closed behind them, he cleared his throat slightly until Sojiro looked up at him. “Father—there is important news that I must tell you.”

Sojiro sighed and nodded as the machines beeped and puffed around him.

“Father... I wished to tell you—. That is, you... should know—.”

Sojiro let out a sharp snarl. “What is it? I am not getting any younger!”

Hanzo turned red again and rubbed the back of his neck. “Father... there is no easy way to say this easily... or gently. But I have found a bride.”

That made the old man sit up suddenly. Too suddenly. He groaned and put a hand to his side. Sweat appeared on his brow as Hanzo helped him lay back down. “Father, I know that this is sudden—.”

“Sudden? Who is she? When can the wedding take place? Have you consulted a fortune teller for fortunate days—?”

He laughed with an anxious nod. “It has... happened suddenly.”

Sojiro’s eyes were sharp and focused and seemed to be alive in a way his son had not seen in weeks. “Yet.. you are sure? She is acceptable to you? What have your dragons to say?”

Hanzo nodded with an embarrassed grin. “She has... ahh... met the dragons already and seems... well acquainted and well adjusted to their presence.” He gave a worried glance to the hastily beeping monitors. He could master spreadsheets and business reports and forecasting, but he had no idea which of those numbers were too high or too low or what they meant. Finally, he decided on a diplomatic answer. “You could even say that my meeting her was their fault.”

Sojiro nodded slowly as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I see. And she is—.”

“She is currently in my suite. I wanted to come to you first. To tell you that we are to be married.”

Sojiro shot him a cunning and sly grin. His voice was entirely too excited. “She’s pregnant?”

“No... that is to say, I am...,” he murmured as he scratched anxiously at his fine beard, “not sure.”

“Really? Then I suppose I should make myself available for the ceremony.” Hanzo gave a stiff smile. “When will you do the deed?”

“I had supposed we might have a small ceremony at the temple in town. Really.... Only you and Genji. Security.” He shrugged. “There is not a need for a lot of fuss.”

Sojiro rolled his eyes. “And she is content with that? Surely she has a dress in mind at least?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I have taught you better than that. Every woman has ideas about her wedding day, even if she doesn’t talk about it. Trust me—she has a dress in mind. Probably music and flowers and thousand other details.” He snorted. “Trust me, Hanzo. You are the man of the house and the head of the family. Let her have her way in this or you will never hear the end of it.

“Your mother wanted to wear a Western dress. Chanel, I think it was. And pale blue.” He let out a whispery laugh. “I insisted she wear a traditional kimono. For 23 years, she never let me... let me... me....” He shook his head weakly, his eyes closing. Finally he took a deep breath and said, “She never let me forget it.”

“I know,” he said soothingly. “But there is one thing you should know....” His father’s eyes darted back to him. “She is... a servant.”

Sojiro chuckled wryly. “She is?” Hanzo nodded slowly as his face went red. His father nodded sagely, as if he had figured out some ponderous riddle. “Well, then.”

Hanzo waited patiently, expecting a rebuke. In younger years, his father might have exploded in temper. Occasionally he was known to swing his mighty fist and send whoever upset him reeling. Instead, there was only that satisfied sigh as his father nodded to himself. When he could not bear it another moment, he asked, “And...?”

“‘And’ what, son?”

“You are... not upset?”

“Your dragons have chosen and approved her?”

“Yes—I would not have bothered you otherwise.”

“Then it hardly matters what I think. Your dragons have already made the decision for us.”

Hanzo swallowed heavily, letting that placid acceptance simply sink into his mind. Glancing around, he saw no one else listening and finally he swallowed the embarrassed lump clogging his throat. “Father... did you...? That is—did you know... the dragons—?”

“Eh?”

“Did you know the dragons were... ahh....? Did your dragon ever—?”

“Any time. No really... take your time. I have plenty of time.” Sojiro rolled his eyes and said finally, “Spit it out.”

“Did you know that the dragons have sex?”

Sojiro’s eyes popped open and his face fell in shock. “What?!”

“The dragons.... They... were....” Hanzo rubbed his hand over his face to cover the anxious color on his cheeks and neck. “I never would have noticed her, but the dragon was... ahhh... intimate with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were... intimate. You know!” He shook his head slightly as his father kept watching him. “They were having sex.”

Sojiro hooted in an embarrassed way. “They made the decision for you, eh?” He snorted and snickered again. “You should have taken a bit more time to relax. The dragons wanted you to relax and they decided to make the decision for you. Was there more?”

Hanzo sighed and felt the flush of red on his face again as his father kept chuckling. “Has such a thing ever happened before? Should I expect them to appear to her constantly? Or should I find a courtesan for just them?”

Sojiro only snickered again. “So that is the reason for this hasty marriage. No, I haven’t heard of such behavior, but every dragon is different. I had not expected you to be be a twin, either—.”

“Yes—I remember you telling me that Mother lost my twin.” He touched his tattooed arm reverently. “That is how I have two dragons to Genji’s one.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Sojiro nodded and stretched, yawning. “Now—go back to her and see if she will let us settle this quickly.”

Hanzo nodded and went back to his suite, where the bride was sitting on his couch, watching television. He turned it off and sat next to her. “Tell me. Do you mind a quick wedding? Soon?”

Her face went pale and then flushed. “What?”

“We are to be married. You know my father is ill. I am determined that he will see the wedding.” He rolled his eyes in anxious embarrassment. “So now is the time to tell me what it will take to have the wedding soon?”

She turned red again. “How soon?”

“Two weeks. That is reasonable, I think.” She only nodded, looking down at her lap. “Then we will be married then. In the meantime, you will use the guest suite. I will inform the staff to not bother you.” 

“Do we have to?” she asked unexpectedly.

“What? Of course we have to get married. It is not like the dragon can marry you.” An impatient growl escaped him. “And this is to ensure that you will not betray us or them.”

She nodded slowly in acceptance before blurting out, “Of course I wouldn’t!”

“I cannot be sure of that. Not unless you are part of the family.”

“So... you want to control me—silence me!” He nodded as she grunted, “Even though there is plenty of proof that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them!”

“You will have money and power and—.” She shook her head with a pout. “You cannot tell me that there are no benefits to my proposal.” He glanced at her anxiously. She was not displeasing to look at. The dragons were merciful in that. But she was apparently stubborn as an ox. “We can make arrangements for your comfort—but we will be married in two weeks.”

“But I don’t want—!”

“I have spoken,” he said firmly. Her eyes flashed and hectic color went to her cheeks. “If there is nothing else, then I will leave you.”

He called the local temple and, of course, they were very pleased to make a priest available two weeks from now and to reserve the space. Hanzo did not tell them why, only to reserve the space for his use and provide a priest. It would not do to have the anyone gawking about, gossiping and videos and what not causing a furor in the news. 

Genji did enough of that on his own.

He was enormously busy with making the plans for the wedding, on top of everything else. He kept her in the suite, giving her a few minutes at least each day to say hello. She was in his mother’s wedding kimono two weeks later, standing beside him as the surprisingly young priest droned on and on to bless their union. Then they both sipped from the three tiny cups of wine and made their vows. His father and Genji were their witnesses, along with the three silent bodyguards. The reception was equally small and brief—a short lunch back at the estate with his father panting in exhaustion as Genji toasted them both. Hanzo cut the lunch as short as he saw his father sag at the table and he and his brother helped the older man to his hospital bed.

Suddenly, they were alone in his suite.

He felt suddenly and inexplicably awkward and unprepared. He hadn’t learned her name was Jihi until they applied for the marriage papers at the city office. He had lived with her in his suite for two weeks, barely seeing her at all as he rushed about, and he knew so little about her that she might as well be a stranger.

She turned up a shy expression to him. “So what do we do now, Husband?”

He looked at her and silently marveled that it was still daylight. The few weddings he had been to, there was carousing and noise until dark at least. The Lotus gang kumicho’s granddaughter had been married last year and he had not ducked out of the reception until the wee hours of the next morning. It was hard to admit that he wasn’t entirely sure of what happened next after what was practically an elopement.

“Why not rest? I... I want to see my father—be sure he is well after all the excitement. And there are several things to do today. I have some appointments that I cannot break—meetings I cannot miss.” She nodded blankly. “I will see you this evening.”

So, he did exactly that. Truthfully, he didn’t want to interrupt his schedule. It hardly felt like a wedding, like the magical new life the stories said it was. It felt like an unusual Thursday, but nothing more. He visited his father elder was settled back into bed and then relaxed for a nap. He paid the men. He went to do a round with on team to pick up the protection money from a particularly rebellious few blocks. He ran around like he normally did, feeling better and better that this was honestly was not a huge change in his life.

Then he was back, walking in the darkened halls to his suite. She was undoubtedly in bed by now and if she was, he would not disturb her. He certainly would not demand his husband’s rights if she was asleep. There was always another night.

She was up, all right. The light in the other, guest bedroom was on. He grinned and felt elated that he would find some wedding night pleasure. He pulled off the blue tie and undid the cuffs on his wrists. 

Only to find that she was already.... 

A blue dragon was already behind her, rutting wildly as she cried in pleasure. He watched, dumbfounded, as they rocked the bed. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks as she sobbed and rocked against the creature.

Suddenly, he was not as eager as he thought to join his bride.

He went back to his bedroom. Later he would tell them to move the bed so he wouldn’t be bothered with the clunking. Tomorrow he would lecture his dragons on propriety and her that she would have to be careful. She was now a Shimada and would have to protect the dragons like they all did. He would even give her a routine—visiting his father, maybe correspondence, perhaps arranging dinners or parties.

He was alone on his wedding night, watching stock reports and the news so that he didn’t have to hear the sounds. He barely felt married anyway, but he did not want to disturb anyone. Still, he had expected to do something with his new wife. What was he to do now?

He cut his honeymoon was cut short and he went back to work the next day. The men were quick to cover their shock at his appearance. They had expected to have a week or more of his absence, not barely twenty hours. He was as harsh as ever, as strict as ever, and drove them through their tasks mercilessly.

Still, she gamely visited his father, keeping him company and playing cards or go or sometimes reading to him. When he told her that he wished to invite the leaders from another clan for dinner to discuss business, she rallied the staff to put on a pleasant enough dinner. More precisely, she gave the number of guests and the night and time to the chef and man who acted as a butler—but at least she got that far. She was polite, quiet, and gave them a warmer welcome than she gave him. So, he was not displeased.

But he was not pleased either.

In fact, he was what the gaijin called “out of sorts”. What exactly it was that made him so suddenly dissatisfied with his life, he could not say. He could not name the restless feeling in his skull, but it muttered down his nerves every time he laid down alone and untouched in his bed. He told himself that he was tired. He told himself he was very busy and needed to relax and rest. Really, it shouldn’t matter. He had not married in some great romance—nor had she. It had entirely been to protect the dragons, to provide his father a bit of excitement in a wedding.

Still, he kept hearing the thumps and sighs in the guest room of his suite. Even when he got back at some kind of reasonable time, ready to spend some time with his wife, the sounds of her preoccupied pleasure robbed him of any interest. So he’d spend another night, telling himself he would not interrupt her. That he could spend a long lunch with her tomorrow or come home early and leave the jobs to Genji and then they could have a spectacular dinner. Then he’d take her to his room....  
And she’d be in there with his dragon and his stomach would clench.

It seemed she was constantly on the run from him. He was busy—even busier now—and the few evenings he had free were infrequent and irregular. So, she would naturally have plans. She was tired and needed to sleep. She was meeting with his father after dinner. She was out with the few wives or daughters of the extensive Shimada family. So he would naturally nod with an understanding mask on his face and agree perhaps tomorrow night....

But it was not in his nature to lie to himself constantly for an indefinite period. He had to admit honestly that now that he had a wife, he was honestly looking forward to having at least a little of her time, her attention. Instead, he was burying his head into his pillows to avoid hearing his dragon—or maybe both of them, because who knew?—having sex every night and occasionally multiple times a night and seething in masculine jealousy.

It was also unfortunately not in his nature to cheat. No matter how many beautiful women paraded in front of him or how sultry the whores were on their corners, he gritted his teeth together and refused them. He then went back home to his lonely quarters and tried to ignore his wife’s lusty racket.

At least she took care of the small duties he left her—caring for his father, arranging meals or attending whatever social events he squeezed into his schedule.

Finally, the storm broke. He had to meet with the elders and instructed Jihi to arrange supper for twenty, make sure his father took a lengthy nap around 2:30 so that he was able to at least sit up for the supper before his brief appearance at the meeting. After the elders accorded him the nods and salutations of respect, he could then retire.

Hanzo returned home and found the dinner table set for twenty and the cooks all rushing around to finish fixing the dinner. He found his mouth was dry as the dessert, even when looking on as one of the junior cooks began filling the taiyaki. It was one of his favorite sweets, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He went to change his suit and tried to figure out what it was that was so upsetting. His dragons were part of him, part of his soul. So if she was sleeping with them, then in a way, she was sleeping with him, right? So he shouldn’t feel jealous or upset, right? She seemed to be faithful to him that way, right?

Why did that not feel like a good thing?

He was at the table, standing with like everyone else and waiting for Sojiro to appear, when he heard a feminine scream. Running down the hallways, he saw Jihi there, crumpled on the floor with his father. She was hysterical as she jerked on the older man’s kimono and pleaded with him to get up. Hanzo tugged down the stiff lapels and checked for a pulse, but even he could tell that there wasn’t much hope.

The ambulance arrived and Hanzo was swept away by uniformed people all barking questions at him. He climbed in the back and wrestled with the dire diagnosis. Not even the Shimada-kai was powerful enough to stave off death and illness. So, with a heavy heart, Hanzo settled his father into a room and began calling the family and summoning his uncles and cousins and family to the estate. In short order, the nurses and orderlies were bringing in cards and messages and flower arrangements.

He had been sitting in the hospital room for over an hour, trying to contact Genji via email and text and calls, when he realized that he had not even told Jihi what was happening. He cursed as he realized again that he knew next to nothing about her—not even a cell phone or email—and was forced to leave a message with a harried member of his staff.

More time passed in solitary remembrance as he sat there. He had spent some time talking to his father, expecting him to awaken. Then, as he realized that death might be coming for Sojiro after all, he had fallen silent except to occasionally speak to a relative and encourage them to come. Memories of his father crowded around him as the minutes kept ticking by.

And when even the memories were not company, his morose thoughts turned towards his marriage and his wife. If she even noticed that he was gone. If she was even now surrounded by his relatives. If she was somehow screwing their dragons.

Then he was jealous again, which made no sense because it was like being jealous of himself.

Genji finally wandered in. They spent hours in occasional conversation, remembering the good times and the bad times. Cousins and uncles and aunts and kinsmen so distant that no one knew how exactly they were related had descended on the estate and were filling up the local hostels and hotels. Gifts were coming in, along with sympathies and well wishes. Even the local temple had received a number of donations and gifts for Sojiro’s benefit and health—either now or in the afterlife. It was a mess and the staff could only handle it as best they could.

The next morning, relatives began arriving at the hospital, where they quickly filled up the chairs in the waiting room. Genji and Hanzo greeted them, taking turns going in and out and talking to them and answering questions and then escorting groups to see the old man. It became a longer and longer day as more showed up to offer their respects.

Then, he was alone with his brother and father again. Nothing needed to be said. Nothing could be said. He could only keep his vigil and sit there as the monitors beeped and hissed. They stared at the machinery until they couldn’t bear it anymore, then they stared at each other. Whatever the nurses came and did, whatever the doctors came and said, it was almost unimportant as they waited and watched.

Then around midnight, there was a loud alarm that startled them both, and Sojiro was gone.

The nurses and doctors came and went in a rush of noise, but there was nothing they could do. So they bowed and offered their respects and condolences and covered the old man’s face before wheeling him away. Hanzo took care of the mounds of paperwork as Genji roused the relatives and called the estate. The old man had not had any unique last wishes—to be cremated and a traditional Shinto service and Hanzo to inherit everything as the eldest son. And since the relatives were already assembled, it would be handled quickly.

In two days, the wishes of Shimada Sojiro were carried out and Hanzo was standing beside Jihi as the funeral rites droned on. For not having seen her in several days, he was surprisingly unmoved to see her again. She was in a white dress to match his hastily ordered mourning clothes, her hair in a tight braid at the back of her head. There was a long receiving line and she stood next to him, nodding and bobbing and saying very little as everyone offered their condolences.

Somehow, in a week, it was all over. The relatives had vanished off where they came from. The flowers were picked over and the wilted ones discarded. The cards and newspaper notices stopped floating in. The noise and bother was over and life in Hanamura was a little bit emptier than before.

Some nights later, Hanzo tossed the empty bottle of sake aside, laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondered where Jihi was. She had not joined him during the whole time of mourning. Not after the funeral. Not as the elders joined to install him as their new leader and swear allegiance. Not when the white carnations and roses were wilting and starting to be taken out. Not when he was almost dizzy with drink like tonight, as he sat at the bar and just drank sake and tried not to think.

The silence seemed to be crushing him as he got up and pulled on a hakama and went to his wife’s rooms. He heard her voice cooing in soft tones and felt his blood stir slightly. Hesitantly, he slid the door open just a bit, and what he saw was enough to make his blood go cold.  
Not only was there an empty drug vial on her bedside table, there were both his dragons, laying and exposed on her bed. She was naked and on the bed as well, slouching back wantonly as one cuddled her breasts and the other lounged between her legs. He could smell the musk of sex even from here and his stomach curdled.

She cooed, “And where have you all be hiding?” There was a purr and a chirp he barely heard. “You both have been such naughty things, staying away so long. Aren’t you tired—with all the excitement?” They nodded at her. “You should both rest after all this fuss.”

Hanzo’s stomach twisted and cramped as she kept talking to them, petting and stroking them gently. When would he get such gentle treatment? From his own wife?! For a moment, he wished she was carrying on a conventional affair. At least another man, he could shoot or stab....

Hanzo slammed the door open, making her gasp and the dragons leap up and bristle at him. When they realized it was only him, they all laid back down with lazy grins. He stared at them as they all seemed to smirk mockingly at him. “Tell me, then, Wife. What do you do?”

She frowned at stared at him. “What? What on earth are you talking about?”

“You fuck the dragons. You lay about. You occasionally manage to organize dinner.” He wove as he stood against the door. “What else do you do?”

She colored slightly as she looked up at him. “They have spent time with me—.”

“So I’ve heard,” he interrupted with a soft slur. “Almost what? Every night?” He staggered towards them. “And no time for your husband.” His face twisted into a snarl. “Tell me, is that fair?”

“But I don’t want you!” she hissed with a pout. “I never did.”

“But you wanted the dragons.”

“That’s all—!”

“And now I demand your time as your husband.”

“I never... never wanted... you.”

“Too bad. I married you and it is now your duty!”

Her eyes widened as she scrambled to the head of the bed away from him. He stumbled drunkenly over one of her slippers and landed with a thud on the foot of the bed. With his dark eyes locked on to her, he crawled up to grab one of her ankles. She shrieked and kicked as he pulled her down to him. Then he lunged up and grabbed one of her wrists.

“You are my wife!”

“You are never here to be my husband!”

“I am here now!” he bellowed. “I am right here and I demand your time and body!”

She shrieked again, clawing the bed and sending the dragons whirling into glittering puffs as they vanished. Suddenly she pulled back and slapped him. “I demand that you leave me alone!”

“So you can fuck the dragons again?” He shoved a finger between her legs and his stomach twisted into nauseous shapes as he felt the salty liquid there. “I suppose that you were planning to never see me again, eh? Shut me out?”

“You’re drunk!”

“You cannot say no!”

“Watch me! No!”

He snarled and began wrestling her legs apart. She slapped him again and he felt his cheeks stinging as she began cursing at him. With a kick to his stomach that made his breath whoosh out, she scrambled away and grabbed a robe and ran down the hallway. Hanzo staggered up and raced after her. She was out the front door before he got there, and then down the driveway.

If he hadn’t drunk the entire bottle of sake, he might have caught her there. If he hadn’t been so blindingly drunk, he would have managed to grab her before she got through the gates to the main road. He might have caught up with her....

It all happened to quickly for him to stop it.

She was running away from him as he kept up the chase. She looked over her shoulder, her face pale and her eyes wide and frightened. So, she wasn’t looking as she got to the road or the car that was hurtling down the highway.

He saw it all in almost slow motion. The car blew its horn in a weird, drunken distortion. The driver was frozen in fear and the wheels squealed as the car’s brakes locked and he spun suddenly. Then the last, panicked cry as she stopped in terror on the street and he stumbled to a stop as he heard the thump.

The next hours were a drunken blur. There was a screech as the driver stopped on the side of the road. There was a stomping of feet as the driver ran to him. There was a soft sound as the robe she had grabbed fluttered to the ground. There was a dizzy tilt and whirl as Hanzo knelt beside her robe and stared at it as it settled on the grass.

Then there were more sounds. Flashing lights and sirens and police and an ambulance. He was peculiarly comforted when he was hustled into the ambulance. There was a comforting barrage of questions and again there was no hope. There was a sort of negative, opposite of hope—the ambulance didn’t even bother to turn on its sirens and they didn’t even try to thread an oxygen mask on her and they just covered her from head to toe.

He called Genji to pick him up from the hospital. He spoke to the police. He was not surprised that the driver was drunk and the car’s brakes in bad shape in the first place. The police considered it an open-and-shut case—even without the usual Shimada influence. He spoke to no one for several hours as he sat in his suite and he realized that there was nothing left in his heart.

Not even the usual murmurs of his dragons.

He had no family left—not even the woman that his father had approved of. Did even Genji count as his family any more since all of his family seemed to be doomed to die in front of him? Or was Genji simply going to be the next one he would watch die? Was it his karma to have no family? To wander this world alone?

Jihi was cremated, buried in due ceremony in the Shimada plot. He didn’t even call his family, only put in a small notice of her death in the paper. He and Genji were the primary mourners, and if his dragons felt anything, he did not listen to either of them. He did his job—the one thing that didn’t ever fail him—and tried not to think of anything.

Then there was a long time he was angry. What did his dragons have that he didn’t? There was no answer to that.

When he was sent to kill Genji—he knew it was all a lie. He knew that Genji was no more a traitor and a layabout than he was. Well, Genji was lazy in comparison to him, but since he didn’t have any women to cater to, it was natural he was more busy. At least this way, Genji was likely to have at least a bastard child that would ensure the future of the clan. But they sent him out anyway. And he did his job—the one thing that didn’t ever fail him—and tried not to think of anything.

Then, when he returned to Hanamura and bowed low to the swords in the temple, he tried to feel nothing. He wanted so badly, right then, to be a heartless Omnic. He wanted to feel nothing as he realized that not only did he have no family, he had no future. He wanted to feel nothing—not even the slight pang of regret when he sliced into the few guards. He had known them. He had fought with them, beside them. He regretted every swing of the sword and he hated that regret. He lit the incense and knelt, his shoulders heavy with sorrow. He had a job to do—he had to honor the fallen brother. And he did his job—the one thing that didn’t ever fail him—and tried not to think of anything.

Years later—maybe ten, maybe more—he found Genji again. The Shimada Sparrow had risen like a phoenix from his own ashes and become something more than he had been before. If he let himself think about it, Hanzo would have compared him to a katana. One of the ancient ones before World War II, where the steel was forged and broken again and again, prayed over by priests and holy men, and only then became a weapon stronger and better than any could imagine. Hanzo had not let himself think or feel for years—only allowed himself to do his job that didn’t ever fail him—and then fill the extra hours with training and walking and whatever odd jobs would give him enough money for a bowl of rice. Then, Genji appeared and told him to make a choice....

What choice was there? He pondered that for hours after they had split apart. The choice—the only choice—was to do his job. Everything else hurt too much. Everything else cost too much. He had nothing else to say, nothing else to do.

He had followed Genji. It was too much of a relief not to. For a time, it was a mere relief to have a direction, a point in getting up each day. Genji left him a clear trail. An easy trail. It was a zigzag across Japan and then China. Every two or three days, he would be led to a hostel or ryokan or something where he could get cleaned up and rest in a real bed with a real bathroom. He did not get a bill—it was prepaid by people who he did not know, who did not answer to any one description—nor did he get to see any of his benefactors. It was like he was following a ghost. But it was a job and he did his job—and it did not hurt.

At last he got to Nanchong, and there he checked into a small hostel. It was yet another low end room barely big enough for a bed and a small table with a lamp. He sat his large canvas bag down and went to the bed. He knew he wasn’t a giant, but the bed seemed exceptionally short when laid down on it. He stared at the ceiling for a while....

There was a picture of a phoenix on the ceiling.

He was still on the right trail. He had a meal coming—either tonight or this morning. It was a relief that he’d get at least some tea and rice after two days of granola bars and public restrooms. He would have a chance to rest before the job continued. The job was everything and he didn’t have to think for a while more. If he didn’t think, didn’t feel, he could go on another day.

Surprisingly, he had company when he came down the rickety steps to the first floor. Genji was there with a slender and graceful Omnic monk. It was too good to be true—of course it was—but they had work. Overwatch wanted him to join up and work with their organized crime task force. Who knew that the same hounds that had been nipping at their heels would ever give him sanctuary?

He barely realized that he had agreed. He didn’t know what he would have done otherwise, but he didn’t know why he agreed anyway. They had all the paperwork—tons of paperwork detailing the exact details of the deal that he was being offered. If he joined Overwatch and had no incidents while working on the international organized crime unit for two years, he would earn a pardon in Japan. If he worked with them for an additional 10 years, his record would be expunged with Interpol and Overwatch. It was a deal—he knew he had at least five life sentences waiting for him in Japan if he got sentenced for all his crimes—and the logical thing was to accept the deal.

He now had a name, a position. He led a team—something he was good at—and got results. His past was a myth, a mystery that no one seemed inclined to solve. At most, someone would remark in passing that he really looked like that yakuza—the one who went crazy and killed his brother. At his fierce scowl, they’d shrug and mutter about “mistaken identity” or “someone else” and go in another direction. Still, he felt nothing but he did his job—the one thing that didn’t ever fail him—and tried not to think of anything.

Finally, as he meditated in one of the quiet little gardens, he began recounting his life. The first part was easy enough to recall: wealth, privilege, power and prestige. Then there was a brief flash of pain and fire and hurt so profound it made him want to rage. He only got through that by going on to the block of time of emptiness. It was not remarkable or deep nor did he accomplish much of anything, but it soothed the raw edges of his pain from the sheer blank nothingness. The nothing was so deep, so profound, that it erased what was around it.

As he sat in the grey blankness of his memories, he found that you had joined him. You sat off to one side, your knees to your chin and your arms around your shins. You looked... lost. Like you were in the middle of some great hurt and that it was trying to grind you down.

That made Hanzo flinch. He was not particularly looking for someone to mentor. Not a friend. Not anything. In fact, he was getting decidedly annoyed at sharing his brooding spot with anyone.

Still, you were kind of staring out there over the small fountain. You weren’t paying attention to him, really. Just sitting next to him and trying to look small and maybe trying not to fall apart. So he decided to accept your silent company.

It made an uncomfortable part of him stir.

He resolutely stared straight ahead. Closed his eyes and began to consider that long period of years where he was wandering around and doing nothing. That part of him began to quiet and go back to the grey silence he had banished it to. He grunted, content again that he could feel nothing. He could do his job. That was all that mattered and it had never failed him, never hurt him.

It made him feel a bit better that you made no move to talk to him. You didn’t try to say ‘hello’ or anything. You didn’t try in any way to stop him when he stood to leave. You didn’t abandon the little garden either—just sat to one side if you both happened to be there at the same time. You gave him the comfort of silent and uncomplicated companionship.

Then that small part of him started... looking forward to maybe seeing you in the garden.

The sullen, dark gray portion of his life began, slowly, to lose its power over him. It couldn’t soothe him like it used to. It couldn’t block the pain. Not like it used to. It was making him feel sick, as if it was a poisoned ooze dripping into his stomach. For a while, he considered just telling you to clear out. Or to leave himself whenever you showed up.

But for all the hurt that suddenly began to throb and grow, it also... lessened.

Jihi. His father. His brother. The elders. It began to throb just a little less. He could see a few more details, remember a few more things. At first, it was the most pointless of things in that grey block of wandering time: a ryokan that had a particularly pretty bonsai, an old woman who must have been ninety or more who had a nice obi, a little boy who gave him some money one day, a pretty sunset he saw once. Little details that might have given him a tiny glimpse of happiness emerged from the silence.

So, to bury all the throbbing and pain, he began to look for tiny details in the now. The tiny thread of hair that tickled your ear. The silly nail polish you had on one day. The way you watched a random bird fly overhead. The way that you sniffled and tried to hide that you were almost going to cry.

Then, one sudden day, he realized that it no longer hurt to think of her. Her—Jihi. Well, it did still hurt—in an old, remembered way—but not like it did. And it was no longer a huge sore that throbbed and ached. She was... a memory. A facet of a past, his past, that had faded from vibrant hurt to a sort of dull scrape.

Instead, you were replacing her.

The way you worried about little birds and bugs. The way you sort of rocked back and forth when you were anxious, holding your knees and staring at the wall. The time you got up before him one day and had grass stains on your butt. The way that you sighed as you saw a hugging couple walking past. It made him feel a little happy, a small warmth in his heart as he saw you.

He told his dragons nothing. They rarely spoke. He hadn’t spoken to them—not conversations and mutterings—in years. He wanted this tiny bit of time. This little bit of happiness. They knew anyway—he couldn’t keep them in the dark with something this important. Not when they were literally a part of him. But he could hope....

He couldn’t keep it a secret, but he could keep it to himself.

Then that hurt most of all in a way he couldn’t explain.

He had no idea what to do, so he resumed his meditations on that empty part of his life. He could do his job. It would not hurt him. You were a mere coincidence—a happy side effect. You would not hurt him because he would not let you.

The dragons stayed quiet and he allowed himself to hope that they had other things to do. He allowed himself to begin to believe that he could indulge in this tiny thing. He could indulge in sitting next to you in the meditation garden. He could force the swords and arrows of his memories aside and add in little details of you as if those memories could dilute what he had been and seen. It must be working, too. There weren’t so many arrows, so many slings or swords cutting his soul. It was all starting to seem like it was paling into shadows. It wasn’t as sharp or vibrant—instead it was still fading away.

Then, one muggy and entirely ordinary afternoon as he watched the fountain, he felt something altogether new and different and wholly urgent. Something entirely unexpected.

Regret.

Not his regret—he knew that well enough. He tasted regret in everything he did the way people taste salt in their food. He regretted so much, even if it was fading away. It was a constant companion, like his shadow, that followed him around.

This was new.

His dragon... regretted.

That broke him. He could not stop the agony, the tears. It ripped him apart. It gutted him. It made everything seem alive with broken glass and salt and burning flames. How many years had he spent burying everything? How many disasters had this caused?

His dragon regretted.

It was more than a month before he could get back to the garden. A solid month that he did very little other than work and go to the base gym or a bar. His knuckles were bruised and swollen and bloody. His body ached as much as his head. And when he could no longer tackle the punching bag or spar, he took to drinking whatever he could that was cheapest.

His dragon regretted. Mourned. Hurt. And apologized in hesitant and silent thread of thought.

Finally, he could go back to the garden and meditate. He settled his mind and eased his thoughts. He concentrated on the void, the nothingness, and let it overcome him. And, at last, he reached out mentally to his dragon.

It was a subtle thing. Not really words or feelings. It was just a sort of thread that reached out to him as he reached out.

The mental path was old. The byways of the thoughts were dusty and choked with spiderwebs. It was as if he was just now, for the first time, in contact with his dragons.

Apologies.

Regret.

Sorrow.

Sorry.

That eased his pain in a profound way he had never considered. He nodded to himself and gently touched a fingertip to his chest. There was his own heartbeat, but then another vague tingle. It was enough, though and for the first time in years, he started to feel like he could be healed.

Then... you showed up. You went to your normal place and sat down silently. You must have had a good day. You had a small smirk and a small flush to your cheeks and you seemed about to chuckle. You also tucked that one piece of hair behind your ear. But you took one look at him and... it faded.

Hanzo shuddered and blinked in surprise. He never meant for that to happen. It wasn’t what he intended, but he could not think of what to do next. He had been alone too long to remember what was supposed to come after the first glance. You rose to your feet and brushed the small specks of dirt and grass off your clothes.

You murmured some apology that he didn’t hear. Instead, he heard the thundering of his heart in his ears. He felt a gentle encouragement spread in his chest. Without thinking—he had had enough of thinking and rethinking and over thinking—he rose himself. Only one word burst out of his brain.

“Wait.”

You stopped, looking over your shoulder at him with surprise. If you thought that it was strange that the first thing he said to you was a command, you gave no sign of that. Instead you were pleasantly attentive, watching as he clamored to his feet to run over to you.

“Wait. Hello.” He flushed as he struggled to find the next words to say. They were there somewhere. He had known women before, talked with all of them. “I mean.... Would you like to...?”

You stared at him in confusion. His face turned even more red and you gave him a shy smirk. “Uh... hi. Look, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Would you... would you like to get something to drink?” he burst out. You looked even more confused, a bit alarmed even. He felt a burst of encouragement from the dragons, but he tried to squelch it because who knew if you would even want him speaking to you. “I mean—would you like to go get some tea? Or coffee?”

Your face cleared and you gave him that shy smile he liked. “Sure.”


End file.
